


It Sure As Hell Better Be Red

by KatrinaKaiba



Category: Suits (TV), The Spirit (2008)
Genre: F/M, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatrinaKaiba/pseuds/KatrinaKaiba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike and Harvey are still keeping secrets from each other. Harvey is The Spirit and Mike is Silken Floss' alter. Soon plans change and the two must rely on each other to save the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She Is My City, And I Am Her Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How The Spirit became the best closer in the city of New York.

“ _I don’t know what I am or how long I’ve got. Heck, maybe I’ll live forever_.” How long had it been since he thought those words? How long had he been waiting for Lorelei to just take him as her whim? How long was she going to haunt his mind? He didn’t notice the passing of time until the night Commissioner Dolan died. It wasn’t a gruesome death, as Liebowitz had died, in the middle of the field. It wasn’t from a stray bullet, as Detective Seref had gotten. No, he had passed quietly, in his sleep, in his warm bed, with Ellen by his side. It was then The Spirit noticed how much time had passed. How Dolan had gone from a portly, spry detective to an old, feeble man. How Ellen had spiraled from a young beauty to a wise woman, the wrinkles lining her face, like the cracks in the pavement of his beloved City. She was worn and old, and he was still the same baby-faced man he was when The Octopus shot him with that serum. It concerned him, his lack of aging but he never told Ellen; it would only worry her and she had enough to worry about due to his flirtatious ways.

Was he just supposed to sit and watch everyone die around him? Watch as everyone he could ever care about leave him? Sand had already gone, never to return. That hit him hard in the chest and now he supposed to watch the rest of his world leave him? Therefore, he doubled his efforts in ridding the streets of his City of her filth. He found himself being admitted to the hospital at least three times a week and each time Ellen was there; her disapproving frown etched on her face, the wrinkles from her mouth’s pulling permanently digging into her skin. He ignored it and tried to kiss away his pain, but found it stopped working a long time ago.

“ _I hope not. That’s nothing any man ought to have. That’s not anything a man ought to want._ ” Time had continued its march against him and he suddenly found himself sitting beside Ellen’s death bed. Some much pain, so much despair and yet…he didn’t feel anything more than that. He always said he loved her, and he did, even after Denny Colt had died…but…he didn’t and couldn’t muster up the words now. She had never believed him, why would he hurt her now? He was simply there, watching her die; his last connection to the human plane, dead. Nevermore would she be there to fix him up, let him heal. Never again would he hear her voice, telling him that he should rest, arguing with him about his obsessions and endless flirting. Never again…

“ _She’s all I really have. My only hope. My only constant._ ” And so he remains, in the streets of his beloved City, being its living breath, protecting it with every fiber of his being. He never stops, even as the city changes around him. The criminals become more dangerous and smarter, so he must become more dangerous and smarter. The buildings become like glass and taller than trees, people come in droves, speaking different languages bringing different worlds into one place. The City, his City, changed around him. New smells, new sounds, new looks, she changed and yet…he remained the same. He needed a constant and his constant shifted around him, changing into something different, but as he really looked closely, his City was just wearing a mask; she was still the same old soul underneath, the same needy, mothering City he was always protecting, that he would always protect. But…his mask, the one covering his identity wasn’t enough anymore. The bad guys were winning; the bigger and powerful ones were walking around during the day when The Spirit was waiting in the shadows. His City needed him so…he too must find a new mask.

It wasn’t a difficult switch, adapting to the world above. He just needed a new cover, a new persona. No one knew Denny Colt in this place, but he was dead all the same. No. He needed a new name, a new face, a new identity, a new story. It came to him while reading the newspapers one day. Harvey…it was a powerful name when The Spirit researched into it; _eager for battle; strong and worthy_. Perfect, and apt for the situation. Then just a twiddle of his thumb and he found the final piece. _Specter_. It was the perfect name, Harvey Specter; ready for battle and able to get the job done silently, invisibly; like a ghost or, he chuckled, _a spirit_. Thus, the Spirit became a new identity, Harvey Specter, able to walk among the living without harassment. It was the ideal mask, or so he thought. This time period had different security methods now. He couldn’t get a job without a form of identification, but couldn’t get form of identification without a social security number. He did have one, but it was Denny’s, and that said he was born in 1924 so it was useless to use. He pondered on the rooftop of this latest setback. He couldn’t move forward in his adjustment in the new world without getting a job or cementing his new identity. Then, the answer came to him, literally just crashed into him. A loud sound startled him out of his reverie, the sound of the dumpster being slammed down. He leaned over the side and saw a group of people running out of the alley way, dragging what seemed to be a dead body down the pavement. He gritted his teeth and went to flip over the edge of the building, to deal out some justice, when he saw something fall from the body. A square padded thing. The Spirit flipped over the edge and fell silently to the cement, not alerting the other men who were too far away to have noticed him anyway. He crawled over to the brown fabric and picked it up. It was a wallet and the Spirit felt his eyes widened as he saw the man had all sorts of forms of identification with him. A drivers license, a medical card, a registration for a car, credit cards, and…his social security card.

The Spirit folded back into the shadows with his prize. A part of him, the cop part that he suppressed for so long was berating him for even considering taking this man’s identity and the other part, the one that wanted to be free of this curse was seriously considering this. There were no indicators of a family, and the man was dead. So why couldn’t he live on as this man? He would simply request a name change, surely he could right? He would change the man’s name and live life as Harvey Specter. He would work out crime from the inside, as he did when he was Denny and The Spirit. It was like fate, the dead man’s picture even looked enough like The Spirit that it would work. Okay so he would have to figure out how to make his eyes brown and his hair blonde but it would work, it had to. He decided to jump full force into this, jump over the line and start a new life, give himself a new mask.

Something must’ve wanted him to succeed, because with a bit of hair dye and these new things called contacts, he was able to change his looks enough to look like the man whose identity he was stealing. A few forms, a few questions later and he was going to be in possession of a new social security card, a new identification card and license. His new identity, Harvey Specter, was born.

Harvey smiled as he walked through the street that day, taking in his City with a new pair of eyes; literally, the contacts made him see the world differently. He then was able to get a job in the mailroom of a law firm down on Lexington Avenue and kept his head down for the most part, simply working to make a little money, to be normal in this new world. However, it became apparent to him that even the purveyors of legal justice were capable of some dirty rotten deeds. He quickly made this known to one of the older lawyers, one of the ones in an office, and she took a shining to him. She instantly reminded him of Sand, strong, quick-witted and kind-hearted. Her name was Jessica Pearson and she asked him if he had ever thought of a job in the law profession. He wanted to retort that he was a cop but stopped himself and nodded. She smiled and discussed the possibility of going to law school, Harvard. He was shocked; did this mean he had to leave his darling City? Who would fight the bad guys for him? Who would be its protector? He left Jessica that day with a lot of thinking to do, so he went on a walk and had a long think. He found himself visiting a graveyard and kneeling at Ellen’s grave for a while. He thought about the offer, should he take it? It was only for a while, three years at the most, Jessica said, but…could he really be separated from his City for so long to go to another one? Harvey thought for most of the day, the sun setting and darkening around him. At the eleventh hour though, he made his decision. He would go to Harvard, just to placate his new boss but he wouldn’t have to like it.

The three years went fast though, much to Harvey’s delight. And he was able to go back to the City he loved whenever he wanted, which was often. Harvey received his law degree in the spring of 1998 and passed the bar during the summer. He was a lawyer and he found it much more satisfying than being a cop ever was. At Jessica’s insistence, he became an assistant to the District Attorney, Cameron Dennis and tackled the hardened criminals from a different angle. He found himself prosecuting the criminals he captured at nights during the day. It was terribly satisfying and he felt that he finally had found his niche; he was protecting the city from the inside out as a prosecutor and a vigilante. He was like that superhero that he watched on TV sometimes, when he had a minute to sit down that is, what was his name…oh Batman, that’s it, but he was dressed way better. It was the best time of his life, and it didn’t help that his mind was often distracted by his sharp-tongued secretary, with her fiery red hair and tantalizing curves, it was hard working by her sometimes, very hard.

It was great, until injustice began to rear its ugly head once again. He was working late at the office one night when he walked in on Cameron, his boss, his mentor, his friend, burying a key piece of evidence that he was supposed to give in to the court. It stopped Harvey cold, not only because it was illegal but because that if he did, submit the evidence, then the man who was being tried was going to walk. Harvey wasn’t going to say anything, just close his eyes and walk away, ignoring it. But the cop part of Harvey, the part he called Denny, overturned his thoughts and spoke up, spoke against the burial. But Cameron wouldn’t listen. It was then Harvey decided to retreat, go back to where he was comfortable. He went to Jessica at Pearson Hardman, taking Donna, his redheaded secretary, with him and in so doing leaving the DA office behind. Harvey  decided to continue working behind the scenes, not dirtying his hands with the complex legalities of it, simply choosing to turn a blind eye to the dirty dealings of the DA and give his own brand of justice to the criminals on the streets. That was The Spirit’s job; Harvey’s was to make obscene amounts of money for Jessica, the woman who changed his life. They were two different entities, inhabiting the same body; Harvey was cold, calculating, manipulative, difficult to please. The Spirit was physically aggressive, able to take down the strongest men with his fists and gentle to innocents everywhere. They co-existed for the same purpose, dealing out justice. That was the name of the game. That was what he did for his City, his true mother.

She was a good mother, and he was her protector.


	2. Silken Floss Is The Most Beautiful Woman In The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silken Floss' transformation into Mike Ross

“ _We start from scratch, who knows what I’ll do._ ” The famous last words of Silken Floss as she fled the scene, the surviving piece of The Octopus safely tucked within her jacket. She drove without a destination, without a cause, just simply driving to get away. Her eyes never left The Spirit’s form for a second as she drove away, the finger tickling against her side. She didn’t laugh, she never laughed. The man ruined it for her, that stupid lucky bastard The Spirit, the thorn in her late boss’ side. If The Octopus wasn’t so obsessed with the black suited man, he really could’ve ruled the world. If only they had experimented on one of those chattering noise makers in the back of the truck she was driving there wouldn’t have been the need for The Spirit. But did The Octopus ever listen to her? Never, even though she was much smarter than he was. She had proven it time and time again, but The Octopus was…special in his thinking.

She scoffed and finally took her eyes off the black dot in the distance, straightening her glasses. The morons in the back chattered on how the boss was gone and that they was watching when The Spirit thrusted the grenade into the boss’ body. It was an inane circle of the same statement only said by a different head of cabbage. Floss rolled her eyes and continued driving, hoping that the cops wouldn’t come after her. She was sure she had gotten away just in time, that her vantage point was far enough away that not even The Spirit noticed her getaway. She wanted to get away from Central City as fast as possible, without any fanfare or fireworks, to start her own research. She knew The Spirit thought it was over, that The Octopus’ secrets died with him, he was _that_ kind of naïve. He didn’t know her very well, if at all. They only spoke the one time in the sewers and he didn’t really focus on her in the lair when she was speaking, still dazed and out of it as well as focused on The Octopus. She was the source of The Octopus’ secrets as he never wrote anything down since recruiting her. Why wouldn’t he write his research down one might ask? Because Floss had a special power of her own; she remembered everything she read, down to the last letter, comma and period. She memorized maps, case files, formulas, stock positions, everything. It was amazing and scary at the same time. If she wasn’t so strapped for cash, she could’ve gotten her PhD by now. It was the only reason she was working for The Octopus, but also to take his theories and discoveries and sell them to the highest bidder, that would surely be enough to pay for her PhD.

Although, she stopped her train of thought while pushing the hat back on her head, now that The Octopus was gone, they technically were _her_ theories now. She smirked widely and straightened her head up, turning onto the highway with a quick turn, the lugnuts in the rear of the truck falling on top of each other. _Idiots_. The Octopus’ theories were hers, she could develop them, she could profit from them. She could get multiple PhD’s from them now. Yes, it seemed to be the perfect idea. All she needed was a space of her own and luckily, she had some money to begin again with. With a quick nod and a dive into her mental files to find a quiet spot outside of the city to stage a base, she was off.

Months and years past like lightning. Dr. Silken Floss had her first PhD, in biology. Not exactly the field she wanted but, it was a start as she was well on her way into her second PhD, in physics. She was a leading force in cosmetics, tackling the issue from a genetic line of thought. It was a lucrative business, making a ton of money. It was the perfect day job as she sought a deeper purpose; the Octopus’ main research, immortality. Now that the blood of Heracles was gone, she needed to find a different route of gaining the fickle idea. Pages and pages of research mocked her, all pointing to dead ends and forked roads. It frustrated her. The years ticked by and she knew that it was going to be a lost cause…unless…

Her head turned to the still pristine finger, trapped within a covered beaker, flexing at her innocently. It hadn’t disintegrated, as she once thought. She figured if the piece was separated from its body for long, it would simply fall apart without its life form. But it hadn’t, it was still moving, as it did that night, many years ago. It made her wonder, was _he_ still around. He had to be. Another theory of hers was if The Octopus was still around (or what was left of him) then The Spirit had to still be alive and kicking. Also, if the finger hadn’t aged, then The Spirit hadn’t either. And there was her wonderful idea, her wonderfully, awful idea. What if she could live on far beyond her years as well? It was simple; she knew how The Octopus did it. She could gain access to the materials easily in her capacity as an active researcher. She could whip up some serum and inject herself, furthering her life and giving her the pressure to develop something to give her immortality. She already knew that the serum slowed down the aging process and granted regeneration coupled with sped up healing. However, it was a gamble. The extra serum was destroyed in the lab when The Spirit and Plaster destroyed it fighting The Octopus as well as, if she screwed up; she could ultimately kill herself in the process.

Floss stood on the roof of the lab, letting out a drag of smoke from her lungs, mulling over this thought. She had made some needles full of the serum, they were waiting for her. She made several as backup but they were the best batch. She tweaked them a little and used some rats as subjects, everything seemed right, just as it did years ago when The Octopus encountered the deceased Denny Colt before shooting him up. She wasn’t going to make that mistake; she wasn’t going to revive a dead human for her to look after. It was all or nothing. She threw the crushed cigarette from the roof and it fell through the wind and disappeared from sight. She sighed and made her way to the lab, laying down on a table and picking up one of the needles. The serum would knock her out, in order to kill her before reviving her so she had to be ready. She pushed the needle into her arm before laying back and closing her eyes, hoping science would pull through for her.

It did. She woke up hours later, knowing this because she remembered she lied down at midnight and woke up at five. It must’ve worked because if it hadn’t she would have died. She sat up slowly and let herself regain her lost bearings before going to stand. She took a breath in relief, thankful it worked. But…now what? She now had all this time on her hands. Once she gained immortality, whenever she found that missing link, what then? She would just wait for The Spirit to come crashing through the window and take her down? No way. She wasn’t that stupid. She could be one step ahead of everyone and that would still be too much space to catch up. She had to find him. She had to take care of him.

First, she had to move back to the city she left all those years ago. So she took her minions (created much smarter than they were before) and started up the truck, starting on the long journey back to the city where the Spirit sleeps. She then began to assimilate a plot to hide within the city; she had to hide herself, not wanting to risk him remembering her after all these years. She developed a few personas but found they were all too good, too obvious; how many genius women could a person really know in a big city just as this? Then it hit her; not a female, but a male genius. A flawed, open-hearted genius. People responded better to nice people, wanted to help downtrodden people more than self-made people. That was sure. And a puppy-eyed boy invoked more sympathy that a girl. Only perverts wanted to help sad little girls. That caused her to shiver and she started to create the perfect persona. A genius boy with her memory (she couldn’t hide that fact of herself no matter what, she was too proud of it) and a tragic past. Dead parents (oh everyone loved orphans, look at Annie), dead-beat best friend (pot smoker too, that she could create in a flash) loving grandmother that felt he was wasting his potential (people loved grandparents) and a big, bleeding heart. Yes, it could work, she thought. She developed his looks next; blue eyes, blonde hair, skinny, tall; she loved being tall, it made her feel powerful, as well as the height being something to make her stick out more, so that she would be more memorable and hide better. She was a big believer that one simply needed to hide in plain sight and people would be none the wiser. With all the pieces in place she just needed to make her persona apart of society. She hacked into the multiple databases to affix herself in them. She gave her alter a name, identification and a place in the world. _Michael James Ross_. That would work.

She hid in the crowds of the city, blending in effortlessly with her minion Trevor. Since she did the main research on the dummies she was able to fix them and make them easier to handle. They were still the yes men they always were but now they looked different and she could mask them with personalities. They were the perfect specimen. Trevor was her sob story, besides the orphan story. He was the ne’er-do-well friend that led Mike astray from his destined path. The pot-head drug dealer, the manipulative anchor, he was doing his job nicely. Floss was able to hide well within Mike, loving the high she got from just being able to hide within this silly city, that they didn’t know what she could do to them in an instant, the minute she figured out how to achieve immortality. She researched at night and during the day she roamed the city as Mike, playing the part up to a T. It was perfect, the perfect plan. She worked it out to the finest detail but as all evil geniuses know, there had to be a dent or two somewhere. Jenny was the first. She didn’t expect the woman would be in love with Trevor and Mike at the same time. She simply allowed the other woman to be a part of their group because it was helping her in the long run. She had someone on the outside to protect her so to speak. Jenny wasn’t too much of a problem and when she became one, Floss could just get rid of her. It was as simple as that.

The second dent, the more damaging of the two, was meeting Harvey Specter, and this is where the story truly begins.


	3. You Know The Score

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey muses and Spirit saves.

Harvey sat in his office the morning after Hardman had been taken down, feeling great. Everything was going back to normal, before Daniel stuck his nose into the firm’s dealings once again. He moved back onto the fiftieth floor, Porter was back on the forty-sixth. Donna was happy at her desk, where the wheels of her chair didn’t squeak and the intercom was always on. He had closed a few deals before lunch, billed a generous amount of money and time for his records, picked up the number of a hot young waitress to meet tonight and harassed Louis for a bit. Yep, everything was perfect.

Until Mike stumbled in, late as usual.

“What is it?” He bit out sharply at his associate. Just the little things were pissing Harvey off. Like the color of Mike’s tie, a bright yellow color, like the color of eggs and Harvey hated eggs. Harvey looked away from the stuttering associate and back to his paperwork just to give his eyes something better to look at.

“I just…well I was wondering…” The young man stuttered holding a stack of papers out in front of him. Harvey rolled his eyes.

“If I could hold your hand crossing the street again? No.” Harvey interrupted and shot the other down before Mike could get another word out. Mike stopped and looked down at the floor dejectedly. He took the acidic tone of his boss’ voice as a warning and nodded before quickly leaving, knowing if he stayed any longer he would put himself at the top of the shit list, right next to Louis. Harvey watched as the kid walked out, immediately regretting his words. He constantly forgot that Mike needed a little extra help with things sometimes. The written word, the law, that Mike could do with no problems. It was the bigger things, applying the reading, filling out the paper work, dealing with the stress of case load after case load, those he needed Harvey for, but Harvey didn’t want Mike getting dependant on him. He was brilliant, scary brilliant but unsure of himself. He wanted to be guided, be nurtured, have someone tell him he was doing a good job. Harvey would give him this but Mike needed to stand on his own, think for himself, find his own way in this crazy world. He was an adult, a grown man. It wasn’t like Harvey was projecting some of his own faults onto Mike, it wasn’t that at all.

And damn it, the man’s grandmother just died, an internal voice was saying. _Denny_. You could be a little considerate, it continued. Harvey swallowed the conscious down and continued to work, telling himself he would find time to talk to Mike later. To give him a little help, to listen to him.

Needless to say, he didn’t get around to it.

Sometime after six, Mike had left, his desk neatly organized. Harvey was surprised. Most of the time Mike stayed late if he had any work left over. Harvey had caught him enough times sleeping at his desk or on the floor to know. It was odd but Harvey decided to leave the issue alone until morning. He had better things to do now namely one Larina Marocho.

His date went well and Larina was very flexible to boot; a good time was had by all. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on sexual conquests for he had a job to do. The Spirit had a job to do. He was currently perched on top of a building, surveying the area with calculating, sharp dark blue eyes. It wasn’t a quiet night; he had already apprehended five small-time criminals, sending to the closest precinct or cop in the area. He made sure he wasn’t seen by the cops. It was alright back in the day when they knew he was out there for their benefit but nowadays the cops didn’t want masked vigilante running loose in the streets, so The Spirit kept himself hidden in the shadows. Sometimes he made himself known to the victims, to get a glimpse of their rescuer, especially if they were a beautiful woman. He couldn’t help it, it was in his nature to be friendly, and if someone interpreted it as overly friendly or flirtatious, he couldn’t control the thoughts of other’s so they could just live with their thoughts as long as they didn’t bother him. But so long as justice prevailed, why shouldn’t he dabble in a little fun?

He sighed as the City spoke to him, in long whispers of wind caressing the trees, short yelps from cars stopping too fast, from the clicks of heels on the pavement from busy pedestrians walking here and there. The buses and subways had their own languages, different from the birds and strays in the alley ways. Even the lights made a noise, all of them spoke to him, told him things. The wind picked up around his jacket making the fabric flutter in the air. He looked off to the left and saw a lone figure making its way up the alley way. The clicks of the shoes against the ground indicated a woman and that captured The Spirit’s attention. She was alone, no others in sight, and she was leisurely walking, as if she had nowhere to go. This could be promising, he thought. If nothing else, he could pick her up and complete another round of fun before turning in for the night.

Suddenly he heard a scream coming off from his right. A high-pitched scream; a woman or a child. He wasn’t too sure of the last one but hell; he saw some strange things in his time, some darn strange things. He gritted his teeth and started to dart down the roof of the building, jumping effortlessly across the gap onto the next building and continuing from there. He sped up and slid down the shingles toward the sound. It was coming from another alley way and he pulled up to the banister to get a closer look.

The victim was a woman. She was being attacked by two freakishly large men who were trying to drag her down the little space between the buildings. From his vantage point, high above them, The Spirit could see she was much smaller than the thugs. He had to hand it to her, she was putting up a fight; once or twice she was able to slip out of one of their grips, but the moment she did, the other pulled her roughly, disorienting her and allowing the other man to grab her once again. She was in trouble and Spirit couldn’t have that. He flipped down the fire escapes to the ground and grabbed the nearest thing, a garbage can. He hurtled it toward the bullies and it slammed onto his head, blinding him. The man let go of the woman’s right arm and his partner looked over at The Spirit. The brute sped forward toward the black clothed man after letting go of his prize first. The quick-thinking woman dipped to the side and hid between the dumpster and cornerstone to watch. The Spirit didn’t have much time to think about her as the not-hurt man came at him. The Spirit jerked back to get a better look at the person. He was slightly taller than him and had one of those faces only a mother could love, and even that would be a stretch. A squashed nose, looking as if it were broken enough, encompassed most of his face which was scarred and rough looking. He was bald, with an ugly scraggly beard covering his chin, jaw and mouth. The other man staggered up, holding his nose which, if it wasn’t before, was definitely broken now. He was not as tall as the other man but just as big, maybe a little bigger if Spirit had to guess. He didn’t have the extensive facial hair that his partner did but his face seemed to be more squashed in places, making shapes that one could make out of clay. And…what was he doing, thinking about their looks at a time like this? There was work to be done.

Fists flew, connecting everywhere. A punch to the face here, a knock on a shoulder there. Everywhere was up for punishment. The Spirit gave out double of what he received, kicking the fight out of the other men quickly using the tools his City gave him; the lamppost on the corner, the forceful brick wall to his left, the grating of the sewer. Each blow critical, each move meticulous. Every time he got hit, especially the intense blow to his right shoulder or the stomping of his left ankle, he gave back double the force, double the pain. The men finally had enough castigation from the vigilante and fled down the alleyway, stumbling this way and that. Hopefully not to harass another woman, but he wasn’t counting on it. He quickly came over to the hiding place of the damsel he saved. She crawled out gingerly, looking around. The Spirit took a moment to take in her features. She was blonde, a bright platinum blonde that one would see on the prettiest models and he suddenly found himself attracted to her. She didn’t even have to look up at him. Harvey and The Spirit had a thing for blondes. Although a pretty face didn’t hurt and…yep, she was a looker; piercing grey-blue eyes watching everything critically behind large black framed glasses, glinting with little rhinestones at the horn shaped corners, the kind that your grandmother would wear but somehow they looked completely right on her face. He saw a light beauty mark right underneath the frame and another three on her right cheek. He wondered just how many shapes he could make as he connected them with his tongue. Her plump mouth was set in a frown, colored with dark lipstick. Her skin was a creamy pale color and she could stand a few hours in the sun but The Spirit didn’t really mind. She was much shorter than he was, as evidenced by the tall boots she decided to wear but even then she only came up to his shoulder. She blinked at him oddly. It wasn’t seductive but The Spirit didn’t stop to think about what she was thinking.

“Are you alright?” He asked her kindly as she dusted her pants off. She looked him over and scoffed.

“Shouldn’t you be thinking about that yourself?” She gave him a scathing cursory glance and he shuddered. Well, wasn’t this odd?

“You didn’t want to be saved?” He asked her cocking his head curiously. She shook her head, not in disagreement but to shake her blonde curls from her shoulders.

“It was not an unwelcome gesture, especially on a dull night such as this, but I definitely didn’t want to be saved looking like _this_.” She said gesturing to her wear. She was wearing a simple pair of jeans that stuck out from under her long jacket. Her boots weren’t a fashion statement, just a pair of boots used to make her taller. He didn’t see the problem with it but he never thought about women from a fashion point of view. They either looked good or not, that’s what it came down to and no matter what, this woman would always look good. He bet she would even better spread out beneath him wearing nothing. That was his ideal look. She scoffed again, taking him from his thoughts.

“Yeah, okay, now you’re thinking about me naked so I must take my leave. Thank you Mr…” She trailed off, looking for a name as she twirled a curl of hair with her finger.

“Spirit.” He responded instantly. She hummed and nodded before starting to walk off, her hips cocking right and left with each seductive step. He watched her walk away and disappear around the corner before letting out a breath. “Well, _that_ went great didn’t it?” he spoke aloud, almost thinking there was a cat next to him. Cat…Cat! He quickly scaled the building and started across town, holding the fedora down with one hand as he fled. He had forgotten about his cats. He hoped they weren’t too mad.


	4. Don't Forget About The Spirit, He's Someone To Contend With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three from Silken Floss' view with a lot of evil genius folded through.

Mike pursed his lips as he sat at his computer. He had just come back from being yelled at by Harvey. Well, yelled at wasn’t really the term he’d use but the words were said angrily enough. “ _If I could hold your hand crossing the street again? No._ ” Boy, did that piss Mike off. It wasn’t like he was asking Harvey to do the work for him. He just needed a little guidance, he needed his mentor to, god forbid, _mentor_ him. He took a steadying breath; it would do him no good if he got angry and blew up at someone; he wouldn’t be able to control his actions, or _hers_ in any case. He had to keep the mask up, so that no one would get suspicious and look deeper. Not only was he trying to keep his lack of degree a secret, but also the fact that he wasn’t really a man, but a woman, Dr. Silken Floss to be exact, in disguise.

He rubbed at the leg extensions under his pants, they were a little tight today, but totally necessary to fool people in thinking he was taller. It wasn’t his fault if his alter was a petite woman. The mask was also a little loose around the collar; Floss would have to fix it later, when Mike share of the work was done. It was a difficult task, trying to split a personality willingly, but Mike managed to do it well; even if his personality was a stark contrast to Floss’. He was kind-hearted, open and gentle where Floss was a jaded, iron-hearted cynic. Mike went against everything that Floss was about and it was starting to wear on them. The scene in the bullpen, when Mike yelled at Harvey about how the man should just accept his losses and move on wasn’t entirely to blame on the passing of Edith. No, it was more like Floss was getting tired of being walked on (even if she was projecting Mike as a doormat) and vented. Mike was grateful Harvey had enough sense to dismiss him early, who knows what Floss would have done if she had broken through? The pot was smoked only to suppress her rage and it was a surprise that Harvey came and smoked with Mike that night, both to Mike and Floss.

It was odd referring to the other by a different name and genders when both alters were aware of the other, and it wasn’t that Mike was a different mindset, per se, he was just a functioning manifestation of Floss’ elaborate plan. He was like Trevor, or Edith or any of the others she fashioned to tell her story better. And when she was done with them, she got rid of them. It was as simple as that.

Mike remained calm for the rest of the day. Thankfully Harvey didn’t bother him thus ensuring Mike could remain in control. The other associates also kept their distance and Mike was able to finish his work faster and whatever he didn’t finish (which wasn’t a lot) he could leave until tomorrow. He stretched and let himself stand still for a moment, allowing appropriate adjustments of the leg extensions before starting to leave the building. It didn’t matter that it was almost six; he certainly earned the early leave by his actions with Hardman. No one stopped him. He took his bike and started off towards Brooklyn, not even stopping for food. Floss needed to come out now, or else Mike would start to lose it.

Despite the sentimentality of living in Brooklyn for Mike, it was the perfect cover for Floss. No one batted an eye in Brooklyn of someone going into a shady building and Floss’ lab was certainly a shady building that blended in with the environment perfectly. The first floor was simply an abandoned warehouse; much like where she and Octopus worked all those years ago, but go down a few layers and it became a scientific orgasm. Sterilized and sterling, full of instruments of different functions and sizes lining the walls. Beakers and unidentifiable liquids on the gurney with test tubes all glinted evilly from their holders. It was Floss’ brainchild and Floss’ plaything. Mike came to a stop in front of the building and chained the bike to the lamplight. He shook the helmet off and fluffed his hair out of habit despite the fact that Floss’ would be taking over at anytime now. He walked into the building and started down to the underground lair in the small freight elevator to the left. Mike flicked the switch and the pulleys began to turn on their own. He climbed in, closed the door and down he went. The ride was short in the little car and with a small jerk, Mike was able to climb out of the box and straightened his legs. He stumbled from the awkward positioning of the prosthetics before standing straight and going to the closet with grace and elegance that Mike couldn’t hope to possess at the office.

The door closed and Mike began stripping his clothes for that day. Shirts came off, pants folded beneath him. He bent down and unbuckled the belts holding the extensions to Floss’ feet. The six inch stilt-like objects were placed on the side, ready for their work in the morning and the body suit was peeled off, gently hung up. Jeans made their way up shapely feminine legs, buttoned against a flat waist. Two black painted nails slipped under a latex layer and unmolded a pretty face from the mask. Damp platinum hair stuck flat against her skull and she shook the hair to loosen it. The male face was set aside, to be worked on later. Ten minutes, that’s all it took for Mike Ross, genius legal associate, to be transformed into Silken Floss, scientific genius mastermind. Floss made her way out of the closet and over to her research table, where her problem from the night before was still plaguing her. It was difficult not to think about her scientific research at the office, especially when she was so close, yet so far. Mike was good at not thinking about the science, just as Floss was good at not thinking about the law; Floss was very good at that.

She sat heavily in the chair, leafing through pages of already memorized figures and notes. She was always looking for something out of place, something she missed, but she never found it. Each formula was perfect, the measurements perfect. There was nothing more she could do, nothing she could find that would push the serum over the edge and give her immortality. She swung around in the chair, crossing her legs at the knees. She tapped her finger against the arm of the seat absently as she went through her mental banks as well. Maybe something along the lines of…no. She groaned aloud and swung back around toward the table. Nothing. Absolutely nothing was connecting and that just pissed her off. As if nothing else could irritate her.

She heard the lurking behind her, loud bangs against the ground. The sound of pounding, as if little toddlers were running across the floor. She sighed exasperatedly and looked over her shoulder. Yep, irritation central.

“Well, did you lard-heads find The Spirit yet?” She asked them.

The three bald men were smiling inane smiles at her. “Nope we didn’t find him yet, boss.” Mangos said brightly. She groaned.

“Yeah, but we is watching.” Logos piped up next to his brother.

“We haven’t looked where he is yet.” Ethos added and an elegant eye roll was the response to that.

“Maybe we should look there?” Mangos suggested and Floss resisted the urge to scream.

“We can’t. We didn’t find him yet.” Ethos responded.

“But we should keep watching.” Logos said.

“Enough!” Floss yelled out. “You ignorant cheese-heads. Why the hell don’t I just kill you and be done with you?”

“You can’t kill us.” Mangos told her, that stupid smile still plastered on his face.

“The boss made us.” Logos reminded her. Floss clenched her fingers so hard they shook.

“The boss said we was easy to make.” Ethos said proudly.

“Yeah, the boss said we was easy to make.” Mangos repeated.

“Which boss was that?” Logos asked.

“The Octopus. Silken Floss is our boss now.” Mangos replied.

“Silken Floss is the most beautiful woman ever.” Ethos said enthusiastically. Floss stood up and began to walk to the freight elevator.

“I need some air.” She said wearily pressing the button.

“You want us to go boss?” Ethos twittered from behind her.

“We can watch.” Mangos added. Floss shook her head emphatically.

“No, you…polyps can stay here.” She said crossly.

“Okay, we’ll stay here.” Logos nodded.

“We’ll watch the lab.” Mangos promised.

“Yeah, we’ll watch the lab.” Ethos repeated. Floss climbed into the freight elevator without another word and ascended up to the surface. As she crossed the deserted warehouse, she pulled out one of her long black cigarettes and lit it up as she made her way out onto the drafty streets. She sucked in a breath full of smoke and let the haze settle into her chest before puffing it out into the already polluted air. She wished she could just get rid of the lug-heads downstairs, but then she’d have to make more and she couldn’t make new ones that dumb; it went against everything she stood for, but good lord they were dumb, and repetitive. They screwed up even the simplest tasks; hell, they’d probably screw up watching a rock. Oh wait, they have. Floss scoffed and took another drag of her cigarette as she turned down the block onto a separate street. She needed to think, and walking seemed to be the best time for her to do so.

The Spirit was always good at hiding himself. He never posted his address, she once said to The Octopus, and it was the truth. He may have been comfortable walking out in the open back in the day, but no one was able to follow him home. Even his sexual conquests, despite being so many, never penetrated his lair. Lair was too strong of a word. A lair was for an evil genius, like her. For a lucky scientific mistake who liked to play superhero that had a penchant for getting laid by simply batting his eyelashes, it was more of a…base. Yes a base; because a base could be found, or stumbled upon by an unsuspecting loser. A lair had the preconceived notion of being protected by guards and security measures that baffled the non evil-genius mind. It was difficult to pin him down even when he saved you; she had been detailed watch duty one night and she tailed him. He would stay and flirt with you but the moment you asked what or who he was, he fled. It was kind of cute, the way he was so bent out of shape by not knowing what he was or why he was left. If Floss had a heart, then she might have felt something for the man’s innocence. But she didn’t, so she found it amusing that he was so in the dark, that he had no idea that he was a mistake.

She stopped and turned around quickly. She had the suspicion that she was being followed but there was no one behind her. Her eyes narrowed and she continued hesitantly, slower than she was going before. She held her breath as she walked, to better hear if something was following her. She saw the shadows dance on the wall growing larger and larger before it enveloped her own shadow. She flipped around and felt an arm grab her roughly pulling her toward them. She let out a frightened gasp, very unlike her but she never figured that she would be a target; she was the one that did the kidnapping. She felt like a ragdoll being pulled and pushed this way and that as she was manhandled down the alleyway. She kicked at the men’s legs and one of her pointed heels connected with their fleshy calf, causing him to yelp in pain and let go of her arm. She wriggled and was able to free herself for just a split second until the man’s partner pulled her tightly against him.

“Stop struggling pretty girl.” The man growled against her ear. Floss narrowed her eyes and struggled just to assert her refusal to do what they say. Her captor gripped her arm with a vicious clench of his fingers, hard enough that it was going to leave bruises. “I said…” He began pulling his trench coat aside and showing her a gun glinting threateningly from its holster. “Stop struggling.” Floss froze in fear. Her mind knew that even if he shot her it wouldn’t be enough to kill her; The Spirit had proven that even with almost a hundred bullets shot into the body of a ‘project’ as they were, it didn’t do much in the way of hurting them. He simply got up and continued to dismantle The Octopus. (Floss didn’t know that The Spirit had put on an armored vest that allowed him not to be penetrated by The Octopus’ bullets as she was too far away from the action.) Despite knowing that, the man still threatened her with a gun and it brought back far too many painful memories so she froze in fear. The man smirked at her reaction and his partner resumed his duties by grabbing her arm, continuing to take her down the alley way. She closed her eyes and bit back a sigh, maybe the idiots should’ve came with her.

Suddenly, the captor on her right let go of her, or, more accurately wrenched her back and was forced to let go of her by a flying trashcan. Wait…what? Who the hell uses a trashcan to fight? Floss stood and lo and behold, the object of her obsessions came flying in right in front of her eyes. The Spirit looked exactly the same as he did all those years ago; all black clothing fashioned against his body, a long jacket slung over his shoulders but never getting in his way. A black fedora and black domino mask accentuated his mystery and the only color on his body, a red satin skinny tie. Floss had a sporadic thought that Harvey would roll his eyes if he could see the choice of neckwear on the vigilante. The other brute on her left arm let go with a growl and charged toward the man. Floss took this moment to bob into the small space between the dumpster and brick wall. If one of those men wanted to get her, they would have to pull her from the space, which was tight squeeze even for a small woman such as herself.

She watched as The Spirit mercilessly beat his opponents into running away. He was a careful fighter, clearly more experienced than all the other times with The Octopus. He seemed to be thinking and strategizing as he fought, luring his opponents closer to him, then turning around and slamming them into the wall. He even tricked them into knocking into each other more than once. He used the tools around him to the best of his ability, using the lamppost as a tool to flip off of, the brute charging at him slammed into it head first. Every blow was forceful and even when he got slammed in the right shoulder he gave it back twice as hard, even after being stomped on, a boot to his left ankle, he still fought. It was interesting to watch and it wasn’t like The Spirit wasn’t good looking, because he was. Floss always thought that. He had strong features, a pleasantly sculpted jaw, high cheekbones that could cut glass, perpetually smooth skin. When his hat wasn’t shadowing his face she had seen dark blue irises that could make the bluest blueberries jealous. They conveyed an innocence that most men in the force had grown out of early in their careers but when they had been turned on her and The Octopus that night in Octopus’ lair, when The Spirit was strapped to the dental chair, they were hard and cold and mesmerizing. It was a shame they were supposed to kill him, Floss could’ve gotten used to those eyes and that body. She could’ve easily been distracted by him, if she would let herself stop thinking for a second.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by the sounds of running feet. She looked up and saw him crouching by her hiding spot, those blue eyes kind and gentle; he hadn’t recognized her…yet. She slipped out and stood up next to him, only coming to his shoulder. He was giving her a glance over her body, mentally assessing if she had any injuries as she dusted her pants off tentatively.

“Are you alright?” He asked her, his voice a deep rumble. She rolled her eyes to give herself something to do. She thought about answering honestly; she was a little sore around the arms where they grabbed her. But Floss was anything but honest.

“Shouldn’t you be thinking about that yourself?” She shot back mockingly. He seemed to be startled by her scathing response. He gave himself a quick once over just as she had done a moment before. He looked confused, his thin lips quirked in disappointment. She stopped herself from smirking; he had expected her to be draped all over him in gratitude. So this is how he got laid, she realized. Wow, how pathetic was that?

“You didn’t want to be saved?” He asked her. She chuckled and shook her head, but only to straighten her curls not in disagreement.

“It was not an unwelcome gesture,” she admitted, and that was the truth she didn’t mind seeing him, since she had been looking for him. “Especially on a dull night such as this, but I definitely didn’t want to be saved looking like _this_.” She gestured to her clothes in an attempt to distract him from figuring something important out. His eyes glazed over her clothes and she watched as the exposed parts of his cheeks flushed and his breath quickened slightly. She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Yeah, okay, now you’re thinking about me naked so I must take my leave. Thank you Mr…” She trailed off tricking him into thinking she wanted his name and not even knowing she knew it already.

“Spirit.” He answered immediately. She hummed as an appreciative answer and started to walk away, her body vibrating with glee. She had found him; she had found the elusive Spirit the thorn in her side. All it took was her getting captured and just yelling for help. She shook her head as she turned the block; it was always the simplest solutions that threw her off. It wasn’t her fault, it was just her brain; it was built to think in complex ways and stumbled when it came to simplistic answers. It didn’t matter; she found The Spirit so she had to plan how to capture him. It was time to go back to the proverbial drawing board as they say.


End file.
